WILD
by CharWright5
Summary: Trees were climbed, adventures created. They were explorers in foreign lands, on new planets, discovering aliens they created in their heads, fighting monsters only they could see. Derek named his monster Jack Daniels but never admitted it out loud, just imagined punching giant bottles half-full of amber liquid, black labels standing out like the bruises Derek wore under his shirt.


_**A/N:**_ _Part one of a three-part series based on the_ Blue Neighbourhood _trilogy of music videos. Title from song of the same name by Troye Sivan. I own nothing but sad headcanons and even sadder fics._

 _Rated M for child abuse, derogatory comments, homophobic comments._

* * *

Derek's skin was buzzing in anticipation and nerves, his heart pounding and his stomach twisting and churning, as he stood on the edge of the dock and stared out at the water of the lake. Turning to his left, he saw his best friend Stiles grinning impishly, brown eyes shining in the summer sun, as he slowly counted up.

One. Two. Three.

They jumped.

* * *

Derek's dad was a great dad. He taught Derek how to fish, how to ride a bike, how to use his hands for countless tasks. He worked hard to provide for both of them but always made time for his son, playing and tickling and joking around, lifting him on his shoulders so Derek could fly, spinning him around until he got dizzy and couldn't tell which way was up.

Derek's dad was a great dad, unless he was drinking.

Then he wasn't a dad at all.

* * *

Derek didn't know if he was best friends with Stiles because their dads were friends, or if their dads became friends because Derek and Stiles were best friends. Either way it didn't matter. Derek and his dad were invited to cook-outs the Stilinskis had, the elder men bonding over dead wives and raising a son alone, the younger two running off to play.

Trees were climbed, adventures created. They were explorers in foreign lands, on new planets, discovering aliens they created in their heads, fighting monsters only they could see. Derek named his monster Jack Daniels but never admitted it out loud, just imagined punching giant bottles half-full of amber liquid, black labels standing out like the bruises Derek wore under his shirt.

Stiles goaded him into climbing higher, a game of chicken to see who wasn't afraid of trying to reach the top, who could jump from the highest branch. Derek was carefree, laughing, smiling, heart fluttering in his chest at the sight of his best friend grinning right back.

Derek was happy with his best friend, and his dad was on his fourth beer, voice getting louder and concerning his own friend.

* * *

They played pirates, plastic swords clashing as they ran in and out of trees, around the sheets hanging out to dry in the backyard because the Stilinski dryer was broken again. It was the same game they'd been playing for years, only entirely different. Stiles crashed into Derek, tackling him onto the ground, just like always.

But Derek's heart fluttered weirdly, his stomach doing a strange flopping thing like a caught fish laying on the dock. Stiles' breath was warm on his face and he had to swallow hard, eyes drawn to his lips and wondering...

Stiles stood up, hauling Derek to his feet, and smiled, acting like nothing was happening. His sword was stolen and it took him a long moment to realize it, frozen in confusion and shock. He chased Stiles down, retrieved his sword, and Stiles declared him the Pirate King, putting their lone hat on Derek's head.

His long fingers were rough with childhood playing, knuckle on his middle finger scraped from the tree they climbed the day before, but they felt like heaven as they slid down the sides of Derek's face.

* * *

Derek's dad sometimes played pirates, laughing as he yelled "arrgh!" and chased his son around their own backyard, laughter and giggles louder than the cicadas and birds. The oppressive heat made Derek's hair sweaty under his hat but he kept it on, told his dad he was the Pirate King, his dad saying it was better than being a Pirate Queen then spitting to the side.

Derek didn't think much of it but looking back on that moment became painful when he finally understood what his dad meant.

* * *

Two boys were kissing on the TV and Derek's heart sped up, his stomach doing that weird swoopy thing it did around Stiles sometimes. His dad changed the channel, muttering about what a disgusting abomination it was, and Derek went back to coloring Bumblebee's helmet yellow.

* * *

Two boys were kissing on the TV and Derek's heart sped up, his stomach doing that weird swoopy thing again so he turned away from the screen. Stiles told him his dad had said it was okay for boys to kiss boys and girls to kiss girls, wiggling happily as he colored Bumblebee's helmet purple.

* * *

They tied a rope from the knob of Derek's closet door to the shelf above his bed then hung a sheet over it, making a tent on top of his mattress. It was their own world in there, sharing comic books and laughs, exchanging secrets and jokes, pretending they were on a ship at sea hanging below deck.

They had finger puppet monsters they would battle, hands knocking together before fingers became tangled, intertwined. Derek's chest grew tight and he felt like he couldn't breathe right, every inhale weirdly shaky. His eyes became fixed on Stiles' lips and when he lifted them, he found brown orbs staring at his own mouth.

Derek's skin was buzzing in anticipation and nerves, his heart pounding and his stomach twisting and churning, then he leaned closer.

* * *

Derek's dad lifted him in the air on their walk back from the lake and he felt like he could touch the sky. They didn't catch any fish but it was okay. His dad had spent the day with him and wasn't yelling or angry, even though he'd had a few beers.

On his dad's shoulders, he felt lighter than air, the Pirate King staring down at his conquered land.

* * *

Scraped knees and skinned elbows were part of growing up, proof of a well-lived childhood. Derek and Stiles would exchange stories about how they got each cut, scratch, bruise, bump, even though they were always together when they happened.

Derek didn't tell about the ones under his shirt.

Stiles had cool Batman band-aids and Derek had boring beige ones, but Stiles would always share his.

* * *

Derek was in the tree with Stiles, listening to his friend talk about the cocoon they'd just found and how there was a caterpillar turning into a butterfly hidden inside, when his dad's voice got loud and angry. The words were slurred as he yelled at Stiles' dad at the barbecue, demands to not tell him what he could or could not say, angry screams for his son.

Derek closed his eyes tight and wished he could fly away like a butterfly, too.

* * *

Stiles' dad noticed the bruise on Derek's cheek and asked him where it came from. Derek said he fell off his bike but the look the man in the sheriff's uniform gave him said he didn't entirely believe it. But Derek didn't wanna get his dad in trouble, didn't want him to go to jail.

His dad was all he had.

So he'd lied.

Stiles just put a Batman band-aid on his cheek and kissed it better. Derek felt his chest get warm and his heart skip a beat.

* * *

Stiles and Derek bonded over dead moms, told stories about cookies and songs and bedtime tales. Derek would hold Stiles' hand as they both confessed to missing their mommies, Stiles saying it was okay to have just a dad, Derek not saying anything back because he didn't really believe that.

But being with Stiles made it okay and Derek didn't feel so alone.

* * *

Derek once hid his dad's whiskey, thinking if he couldn't find it then he couldn't drink it and he wouldn't hit Derek.

His dad had slapped him across the face so hard, Derek had fallen to the ground. He had a bruise there for a week.

* * *

Real men don't cry. Derek's dad taught him that. Only women and pansies cried and Alan Hale's son was neither of those. Men toughened shit out, kept that shit hidden, never showed weakness. If they did, they weren't real men, just pussies pretending to have dicks.

Crying wasn't tolerated in the Hale house, not even after the matriarch had passed.

* * *

Derek's dad was yelling at another man at the Stilinski barbecue, calling him a pussy and telling him to man the fuck up, to take his ribbing and quit bitching like a woman. Stiles' dad had gotten involved, trying to be diplomatic and calm things, trying to get Alan to calm down, trying to take the beer from the man's hand.

Derek knew there was no way things would end well if they stuck around so he ran over to his dad, nudging him away, trying to suggest they go home without making it seem like he was ordering his dad around. As much as he seemed to make his dad mad, sometimes he was the only one who could calm the old man down.

They both left, Derek's dad stumbling in his steps, Derek looking over his shoulder to find Stiles watching sadly from his own father's side. Derek felt his heart drop and he turned away, unable to handle the upset on his best friend's face and wishing he didn't have to go home.

* * *

Derek was ten when he had his first kiss on his bed, under a makeshift tent, with his best friend.

Stiles was ten also and giggled when they parted, calling Derek a dork as his cheeks became splotchy and red.

* * *

Every time the boys came home from their adventures, Stiles' house was the first stop. And every time Stiles would leave his bike on the front yard before racing up the steps to his room then out the window to sit on the porch roof and watch Derek.

And every time Derek would peer over his shoulder at him, hating the sad look on his best friend's face, and wishing he didn't have to go home.

* * *

Derek would roll himself up in his blankets sometimes, pretending he was a caterpillar in his cocoon, turning into a butterfly so he could leave.

Thoughts of Stiles made it bearable when reality set in and he knew he'd never be able to fly away.

They didn't stop the silent tears Derek would feel roll down his cheeks, knowing Stiles wasn't there to comfort him in that moment.

* * *

Derek never kissed Stiles again after that day in the pretend tent.

Stiles, however, kissed him several times over the next few years.

It was always sweet, innocent, chaste, a quick peck on the lips that was over before Derek could really register it had begun. Yet his heart still skipped a beat every time and Stiles always grinned widely, eyes shining like the summer sun, and Derek began wondering if maybe the sheriff was right about boys kissing boys being okay.


End file.
